


Lost Thoughts

by MaryPSue



Category: Lost Boys (1987)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Complete, Early Work, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 16:25:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryPSue/pseuds/MaryPSue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five quick little sketches of life and undeath in Santa Carla.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

So here we are, sitting alone, on the Boardwalk steps, the lights from the fires along the beach and from the Boardwalk itself making it almost as bright as dawn. I don't know where the others have buggered off to, and I don't particularly care. They'll be back.

Out of habit, I offer Michael a cigarette, and laugh when he refuses. Kid's such a momma's boy. Oh, he might have a leather jacket, a motorbike, a piercing and some badass friends, not to mention a blood hunger that'll catch up with him in, oh, a day or two, but he still won't touch tobacco. It's almost endearing how hard he tries to be cool. Maybe that's part of the reason I didn't let Star get on with it, just kill him.

I light the thin white tube in my hand and take a long drag, feeling heat sear my lungs. Someone once told me that these things would kill me. I guess I'll take my chances.

"How do you think the world will end?"

I glance over at Michael, who's staring out at the waves. "The hell kind of question is that?"

Michael shrugs. "The first that came to mind? I hate awkward silences."

I take another pull from my cigarette. Truth is, I've given some thought to this one, since, barring some unforeseen incident, I'll probably be around to see it happen. In fact, Marko and I even have something of a bet going. He thinks the vampire population will eventually overrun the human food supply. Whereas I, I realise, blowing out a lungful of smoke into the warm night air, have no friggin' idea. My money's on a nuclear explosion, but it might just as easily be a meteorite strike, or God (if there is one) getting fed up with the world and deciding, 'Right, that's enough of you.'

"Any ideas?" Michael's finally looking at me. I treat him to a grin as I pull in another breath of burning tobacco.

"I guess it'll all just go -" I start, and then have to stop and let out the rest of the pollution lurking in my lungs before I can finish my sentence. "Up in smoke."

Michael laughs, and I can't help but notice how surprised he sounds. I should probably end it here, this charade of friendship, should probably let him know he was only ever supposed to be Star-chow. But I don't want to. I'm having more fun with this guy than I've had in the last decade. Hell, maybe I'll even help him make his first kill, instead of stringing him along to become one himself. The kid might be fun to have around.

"I don't know how it's going to end," Michael says softly, "but for some reason I think it's going to be soon." He shakes his head. "I guess I'm a fatalist."

"Nah, you're just paranoid."

Michael laughs again, that humourless half-smile twisting his face. "What's the matter?" I ask, flicking the ash from the end of my cigarette and onto a passing girl's foot. "We're all paranoid, one way or another." Paranoia's saved my sorry ass at least once, probably more.

Maybe it's all these morbid thoughts bouncing around, maybe I'm trying to make up my mind about what to do with Michael after Max is done using him as bait, maybe it's just for lack of anything else to say, but I find myself asking, "So how do you think you'll die?"

The look Michael gives me is one hundred per cent _You're joking, right?_ I take another puff and stub the cigarette out against the sole of my boot. "I'm serious."

He shrugs, the leather of his jacket bunching up around his shoulders. "Probably old and senile in a nursing home somewhere." He catches me looking at him, and demands, "What's that smirk for?"

I echo his shrug. "You never know what life's gonna throw at you." Michael Emerson won't be fading away in a nursing home anywhere. He made sure of that the night he started making eyes at Star.

"Well, how about you?"

"Huh?" I've lost the train of the conversation. Verbal irony distracted me.

"How do you think you're gonna go?"

Oh, this one I know all too well. "With a bang." I snap my fingers, which isn't easy with leather gloves on, and then fish through my coat for my packet of smokes. "Young, violently, and having too much fun for my own damn good."

Michael sighs; he sounds jealous. "You can say that again."

I pull the pack from my left-hand pocket and take out another cigarette. "It's the only way to live. Anything else is just passing time as pleasantly as possible." For a moment I think of Max, his terrible shirts and his mansion on the hill and his incessant scheming to make this ragtag group of vagabond vampires into a 'family'. It's really rather sad, though I'd never say that to his face. I haven't got that much of a deathwish.

Michael nods, as if he actually knows what I'm talking about, and then, to my surprise, reaches for the pack of cigarettes. "Maybe I'll have one of those after all."

"Attaboy." The end of my cigarette flares to crimson life before sinking into sullen ash, and I take a drag before tossing Michael the lighter. Watching him fail miserably at trying to get the end of the cancer stick to light, it's all I can do not to laugh out loud. Honestly, he tries so hard.

I've made up my mind. I don't want to miss a single opportunity to torment this guy. Let Star find another chump. And Max can have Lucy Emerson.

Michael is mine.

A thought makes me smile, even as the kid starts to cough like he's trying to bring up a lung. Soon, he'll be one of us, forever. Although, I think, glancing over to see Michael trying to pretend he didn't just react like every first-time smoker ever, he might need a little nudge. Maybe it's time to take him out hunting.

I can't wait to see his reaction.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a time, I reflect, when David was everything I'd ever wanted in a man.

I nearly laugh, despite how out-of-place it would sound in the middle of this fight. Boy, has that changed.

"You can't leave." He sounds dangerous when he's angry. It used to send chills down my spine. Now, it's just pissing me off.

"Didn't you hear me? I want out. I've had enough." _You're not the man I married._ I sound like a character on a third-rate soap opera. What kind of hack's writing my lines?

"You can't just leave like that, Star." There's a slap in my near future. I can hear it in his voice, in the way he says my name. "You're a half-vampire. You can't just say, 'I want out', and be human again."

"I don't care." I fold my arms across my chest, hoping it'll make me look determined and wondering where I left my jacket. It's cold in this cave, this godforsaken hole, despite the fires that provide our only light. "I don't care if I can't go back. I can't stay here, either."

He's practically tearing at that bleach-blond hair now. "Where the hell do you think you're going to go?"

"Anywhere but here!" I can't keep a slight edge of hysterical laughter from my voice. We've been having this same damn argument since a month ago. "I can't stand this place anymore, can't stand you anymore!" I stop and brush my unruly hair from my eyes – I haven't washed it in so long, god, if only the Boys had chosen a place with plumbing! – taking a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm down. "I'm going crazy here, David. I have to leave."

He collapses into that accursed wheelchair, which rolls back about a foot. He's glaring at the ceiling, refusing to look at me. "David, are you even listening?"

His eyes don't leave the ceiling.

I could shout, could demand his attention, could earn that promised slap. But I don't feel like it. So instead, even though I know he's not listening, I tell him everything. I tell him about white picket fences and green grass and plumbing and electricity. I tell him about a kitchen that gets used for more than just a place to open takeout, and vehicles where I don't have to cling to his waist in order to ride. I tell him about dead-end jobs and about college, even though that was always my parents' dream. I tell him about stability. I tell him about love. I tell him about growing up.

At one point, he groans and puts a hand to his forehead dramatically. "Aagh, you sound just like Max."

"Oh! Well, I'm so sorry to remind you of your _father figure_."

He stands up. Just stands up, and yet he manages to make it look so menacing. Once, maybe, I would have given in just then, swooned and let him carry me away to have his wicked way with me. But I'd like to think I've got slightly more dignity than that. "Do you even listen to the shit that comes out of your mouth?"

"I want someone to love me, David, someone who'd give anything to make me happy, instead of demanding everything from me."

"And just what have I demanded from you, Star?"

"Everything!"

"Everything."

"My life, for one."

"I -" He's speechless. " _You_ wanted this!"

I shake my head. "Not this! Not this squalor, not this limbo, not these endless years where nothing changes! I wanted marriage, David." Seeing the surprise on his face, I push on. "Yes, I was that old-fashioned! I wanted a husband, I wanted a home, I wanted a child! But more than that." I duck my head, not wanting him to see that I'm on the brink of tears. "I wanted you. I wanted you more than anything else. But I don't want you more than everything else put together, don't you see?"

He rolls his eyes.

I've got nothing more to say, so I turn and walk away. I've given up enough for him. If he's going to follow me, I won't stop him.

But he doesn't, and I walk clear out of the cave. I don't know where I'm going. I'm not sure what I'm doing. I just know that I can't bear to stay there for another second.

When I return, and return I do, having again persuaded myself that there's nowhere I can go except back to him, there's a towheaded blond kid playing with Paul by the fountain.

There are no words. I scream. The kid screams too, and Paul looks at me guiltily, standing quickly and pushing the kid behind his back.

This doesn't stop me. I fly at him, knowing I'm useless against a full vampire, even one as erratic as Paul, but still determined. "What the hell are you planning to do to that little boy?"

"Nothing!" Paul protests. "You weren't supposed to know he was here – shit, David'll kill me for spoiling the surprise..."

"Surprise?"

There's a rush of air from the mouth of the cave, accompanied by a sound like giant wings. I turn to see David scrambling down the incline, a look that might almost be considered apologetic on anyone else scribbled across his foxy face. "Surprise," he snarls, obviously trying to hide his discomfort. "You should consider yourself lucky. I never give gifts."

"Gifts?"

The boy's head peeks out from behind Paul's back. I curse my own selfish desires, that made me fight with David, that made me scream my hopes and dreams, that even now have me wanting to pull the boy into my arms and never let go. "No, David, you can't give me a human being! You have to take him back home."

"That's what I thought you'd say." He looks upset, as if this isn't going over quite how he hoped it would. "So I turned him."

"You what?"

"Laddie's a half-vampire. Like you."

I can't believe it. I actually cannot believe that this is really happening. I know that David doesn't think things through half as carefully as he pretends he does, that acting on rash impulse is one of the things that drew me to him and now grates on me, but I didn't think he'd go this far. No matter what happens, it'll tear the poor boy apart.

But I can't help but feel, just a little bit, grateful. Even though he does demand too much, even though it's probably a cheap trick to tie me to him further, even though he can't make right through one gesture years and years of everything being wrong, David listened. He listened, and he tried to do something for me, to make me happy.

Of course, it doesn't change things between us. Maybe if he'd relocated to somewhere with plumbing.


	3. Chapter 3

Can I tell you what it's like to finally realise that you're not fully human?

Stone-cold terrifying, that's what it is. And every so often, you'll start to forget, only to be brutally reminded again.

For me, it didn't really hit home until Sam's friends, the Rambo twins or whatever, showed up to help with (okay, plan and carry out) the raid on the cave. Oh, sure, I knew I was sleeping all day, that my reflection was slowly but surely disappearing, that I could shrug off gravity like an ugly sweater and, scariest of all, that I was getting more and more desperate for blood with each passing day. But it's easy to slip into denial when something's a secret. Hearing those two call me a vampire, the way they talked to me and, more importantly, about me, made it impossible to deny. It was like a nail in my heart, one I'd gotten used to having there, to the point where I didn't feel it anymore. But ever word was like a hammer, and let me tell you, I sure felt it as they drove the nail in.

I probably would have slipped over the edge if it weren't for those two harebrained lunatics. Don't tell them, it'll just encourage them, but if they hadn't been there, making what I was sound vulgar, wrong, disgusting, I probably would've given in to my thirst. I'd resigned myself to my fate, ignored Sam's and Star's words meant to comfort and give hope, had even begun to rationalize killing someone. It wasn't my fault, there was nothing else I could do, it was too late... But those little jerks didn't even try to spare my feelings, and I realised that for even considering the unthinkable, I didn't deserve to have my feelings spared. It was that more than anything that brought me around again. I didn't have any faith in their abilities as vampire hunters, but I didn't need to. I just needed a swift kick in the ass to wake me up again. I needed to see that I still had a choice.

And now, I realise, I made the right one.

The house is a wreck, the car through the wall and the sharpened fence posts that killed Max, as well as the subsequent explosion, having destroyed most of it beyond recognition. But our family, such as it is, is intact. I can't help but think that it's at least partially thanks to those two bozos, who even now are bragging about their kills, that we're all here and alive. I still can't believe that I got thrown from the first floor clear onto the second, through the railing, and barely suffered a scratch. Or that I fought David and didn't lose.

Oh, sure, I've acted tough for ages, ever since Sam and I found out what Dad was doing behind Mom's back. But even I can tell that I'm not half as tough as I pretend to be. I'm just a little kid playing dress-up in a biker punk's persona. Part of the reason David offered me the blood in the first place, part of the reason I accepted, was because we both knew that if it came to a fight, I would lose.

But I didn't.

I think it surprised me as much as, if not more than, it did him. Cocky bastard. I tell myself I'm glad he's gone, glad it's over, that he'll never torment me again. But I know better.

We were friends, for a while. I won't – can't – just forget that. It doesn't mean I'd take back what I did – actually, if I had the chance, I'd do it all again. But we were friends. And then, somehow, we weren't anymore. Somehow, I learned to hate him enough to kill him.

He'll always torment me now. My memories, knowing that I ended the life of someone who'd been my best friend, will follow me for the rest of my life. Maybe David did win our fight, after all. Because, when all's said and done, I only proved him right.

I am a killer.

With this realisation, icy fear grips my stomach, and I shout, unprepared for its assault. They're all on me in an instant, Sam, my mother, Star, all fussing, wondering if I'm hurt. But I'm not. If I was injured during that ordeal, it's healed already. And that's part of this new fear.

Oh God. I was still half-vampire when I killed David. And what did Sam say? You're only half a vampire...until you make your first kill.

Shit.

It feels almost like I'm drowning, and I cling to Star, desperate for air. "What is it?" she asks, worry and fear naked in her voice. "Michael, what's wrong?"

Outside, the sun begins to rise.


	4. Chapter 4

It hurts. Oh, God, it hurts.

How did I even get here? I can't think, can barely breathe. I should've listened. Somewhere down the line, I should've stopped, taken a step back, gone, _Wait a minute. I've known these guys for what, five minutes? How do I know I can trust them? Why am I acting like such a stupid prick?_ I should have listened, to Sammy, to Star, to that little voice in my head saying, _Trust me, this is a really, monumentally bad idea._ God, I should have thought with my brain instead of my cock and my oversized ego. But I didn't. Oh, God, I plunged into this with my eyes shut. And it's too late now, isn't it? Much, much too late. And I'm not talking about the time of night.

It feels like something is _eating_ my _insides_.

Hey, the window I'm looking up at isn't mine, is it? It's Sammy's. Why am I...?

Where are my thoughts? They should be keeping me company, not running for cover. But they're running, traitorous little bastards. Maybe they're scared of me. They should be. Right now, _I'm_ scared of me. Scared of myself. Scared of what I might do.

Oh, _fuck_ –

It's worse than it was last night, and better. Worse because I can't ignore it, can't mistake it, this awful _burning_ , this...this _hunger_. Shit, it's unnatural, it's wrong, it's...

Fuck, it's uncontrollable. Even from here, even outside, I can hear the heartbeats, can almost taste –

No. Don't go there.

Okay. Come back here, thoughts, you little bastards. You're in this one with me, whether you like it or not. See what happened last time you scurried into hiding instead of helping me out? We're going to finish this train of thought, whether you like it or not.

So. It's worse than last night, bad enough that I can't mistake it for ordinary thirst or for plain lust, bad enough that I can't satisfy it with meaningless sex. But it's better, too – I can almost keep it under control now, think I might even be able to think if I concentrate.

Concentrate.

I'm going to have to go in there. Have to get my stuff, have to say goodbye or something – there was a reason I came here, wasn't there? Besides the obvious. Besides thoughts – not really thoughts, even – besides anticipation of how sweet it'll be when I sink teeth into –

Not going there.

Focus.

On what?

 _When,_ not _if_. Oh God. This is for real, isn't it? This isn't a dream, isn't a game, isn't like a horror movie or something. This is _happening_. And I can't stop it. I can't _stop_ it. This isn't like last night, desperately trying to deny it, to rationalize it. _It's nothing. I must be dehydrated. Fuck, Mike, what are you doing? This is the bathroom, not the kitchen. Are you sick? You've got to be sick. It's got to be some kind of warped fever dream. Yeah. That's it._

Oh, I'm sick all right.

I can't hide anymore. Can't hide from them. Can't hide from myself.

_You really fucked this one up, you know that, Mike?_

Okay. Have to go in there. But I'm not going to do anything...anything to anyone. I'm not going to scare them, I'm not going to hurt them, I'm not even going to talk to Mom or Grandpa. Just Sam. Sam knows what's going on. Hell, he knows better than I do, and that's hardly fair, is it? No, I'd say it's not fair at all. Sammy knows what's going on, and I haven't got a clue. Or hadn't, until tonight.

Oh, God. I can still see them when I close my eyes.

Eyes...oh God, what happened to my eyes back there? For a moment, everything went red –

No. Don't panic. Focus.

I can still see the whole bloody thing. 'Bloody' being an accurate description here. Of course, I didn't really think they were just taking me to a party. But I couldn't even have imagined what really happened.

Okay, maybe I could have _imagined_ it. Especially last night, when –

No. No, don`t think about it. Don`t –

Oh God. Oh God, it _hurts_.

Well, it`s too late now, with this desperate need devouring my insides, with the whole scene replaying itself, bloody and vicious and awful and disgusting and...

... _delicious_.

No. No nonononono. Have to stop this, have to get this under control, because I still have to work out a way to sneak into the house and –

And hey, I can just fly up to Sammy`s window. No one`ll be the wiser.

Oh God. I – I –

I have no _right_ to be calling on God right now, because it`s too late for me. Far, far too late. Because...because...

Because Sammy was right. I'm a creature of the night. A goddamn, shit-sucking vampire.

A vampire.

This really can't be happening.


	5. Chapter 5

It's nights like these, when the wind howls and bangs branches against the house and tears about like some great beast that's just been unleashed from long imprisonment, that I find myself shivering. It's not from the cold, although you could hardly call the weather 'nice' and, since the storms usually come around September, it _is_ cold. It's more from some darkened memory, some foreboding with its roots hidden deep in my mind.

The wind frightens me more than I care to let on. I know it upsets the boys, although they do a better job than I of hiding it. There's really no reason to be scared anymore, I know that. But still, some part of me likes to whisper that I'm wrong. That our happy family is nothing more than a sham, a pretence hiding the darkness festering underneath. Perhaps it's just because I didn't notice, didn't become part of the nightmare until it was almost over, that I now find myself unable to let it go?

Because I didn't know. Maybe I didn't let myself. I didn't see what was going on until it was right there, right in front of my eyes, undeniable and real and – and, well, frightening! To someone who's always harboured a secret fear of the closet monster, this was something ripped straight out of a nightmare.

And my boys. Oh, my boys. I should have known something was wrong. Should have pushed a little. But I was so scared! Scared of pushing them too far. Scared of losing them, especially Michael. Oh, Michael. I should have – so many things I should have done. But I was so afraid of hurting him, so afraid of losing him. It was so soon after the divorce, and I knew – know – that lots of kids respond to divorce by acting out and –

Oh, but not _my sons_!

It just didn't make sense. My sons – they've always been such good boys. But I thought – oh, I don't even know what I thought. Perhaps I was too wrapped up in myself. Yes, I'd say that was almost definitely it. If I hadn't been on the rebound with Max, there's no way I would have missed what was going on right under my own nose. Somehow, I just assumed that everything would be fine. That I was the only one with problems.

I was so selfish.

Dad's tried to tell me otherwise. That I can't blame myself. That I wasn't wrong to want a life of my own. That we were all turned upside down by Lance's sudden departure. That I'd given all I could. That it wasn't my fault.

Not my fault. That's quite a joke.

And now, the wind howls and the house creaks and the lights flicker and Sam pulls out those awful comics again and Michael holds that _nice_ girl tight enough that it must hurt, mustn't it, but she doesn't make a sound, just holds him tighter, and I wish I had someone to hold as well. Maybe it wasn't so wrong of me. Maybe – but maybe if I had just pulled my head out of the sand for a moment, we wouldn't be here, wouldn't be starting at shadows.

And how I hate feeling like I've failed them. All I wanted – all I really wanted – was just to be the best mother I could be. But when my boys needed me, _really_ needed me, I let them down. I wasn't there.

I wasn't there for them.

How could I have let myself be flattered into neglecting my _boys_? And especially when that flattery was directed at how I had raised them! I can't believe it! I just can't believe it!

" _Boys need a mother_..."

Of course they do! And mine needed me.

It's nights like these, nights when I sit and wind myself up into a little ball of shame and anger, nights when I imagine how it all might have gone had I noticed what was going on, had I paid more attention to my _sons_ , had I not been so selfish, that I sometimes stop and wonder – might it have been worse?

Yes, perhaps I was too selfish. But if I hadn't been out that night with Max, hadn't made him bring me home, what might have happened? What might have happened to my boys? Maybe I would have been able to help out, but not much. And would I have even believed them if they'd told me, if Sam had told me his suspicions, if Michael had confessed what was happening to him?

But I know the answer to that, don't I? Sam came to me the day it all blew up, and I only got angry with him. I didn't believe a word of it, didn't even let it bother me much until later. So perhaps it did all work out for the best.

But I can't help feeling guilty.

Because I wasn't there. But also, because maybe, if I had been there, _it wouldn't have made a difference._

There. It's said. My real fear, my real nightmare. That I couldn't have done any good even if I had known what was going on. That maybe, if I'd tried, I would have lost them. Lost my boys.

And so, on nights like tonight, when the wind screams like a dying vampire and shakes the house as if it's angry with us, when the pipes rattle and groan and we all _know_ it's because this is an old house but we all wonder, when everyone's on edge and no one dares say what we're all thinking, I sit and worry. I don't say anything, of course – my worries will hardly help. And, after all, it is all behind us. It's over.

Isn't it?


End file.
